


Pillbug

by MonsterParade



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Established Relationship, I wrote this in three straight hours and I can't see anymore, Nipple Play, Not Beta Read, Other, Over-Sensitivity, now think about that but for THOUSANDS OF YEARS, now you understand Beetlejuice, rip and my apologies, think about the last stretch of time u went without sex, tickling? but like just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22438906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterParade/pseuds/MonsterParade
Summary: --taking the idea of an oversensitive touch-starved bj to its logical conclusion…a beej who is simultaneously desperate to be touched but also extremely squirmy, jumpy, and prone to curling up like a pillbug if his partner happens to hit on a sensitive spot (which, uh, happens to be most of his spots). lots of yelps and stifled laughter.his wriggliness would be almost worrying if not for the fact that he remains unfalteringly desperately aroused even if his body seems to be reflexively trying to escape. it’s basically a cycle of "ahaha stop- wait no no no please don’t stop i’m begging you" - [@squeedlejuice on tumblr]
Relationships: Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/Reader, Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/You
Comments: 16
Kudos: 308





	Pillbug

**Author's Note:**

> grandest thanks to @squeedlejuice on tumblr for being a GOD of Beej art and inspiring this entire thing single-handedly; may we all have the joy of touching Beetlejuice's belly one day, each and every besotted little one of us.

Beetlejuice is spread out before you, like a tableau of seduction, all soft rolls of fat and bedroom eyes and shades of green, purple, and stark white. You've barely touched, but already he's shucked his clothes, and they lie abandoned in a dusty heap somewhere near the foot of the bed as you finish wriggling out of your own and join him on the mattress. You're completely unsurprised to find him hard already when you come to kneel between his legs; that old saying about getting horny from a good stiff breeze might honestly be true in his case. It makes you chuckle to yourself, just a little nervous.  
  
"Like what you see?" Beetlejuice asks, his usually gravelly voice already an octave or two lower than it usually is, the scraping sound of it making goosebumps prickle across your skin. He's grinning widely, unashamed and unabashed and maybe just a touch manic, and you watch him lick his teeth with his strange, discolored tongue like he's planning to eat you.  
  
You hope you haven't gotten in over your head.  
  
"God _yes_ I do," you murmur, reaching out a hand. You catch yourself before you can make contact with any part of him, though, and twitch your fingers away apologetically, realizing that you haven't been given permission to touch yet. You catch his gaze and find him watching you with shining eyes, mouth twisted in a confused half-smile. "Oh! Oh, sorry. May I...?"  
  
"Holy shit, you don't have to _ask,"_ he says, splaying his legs further to encourage you, "You could literally punch me in the face and I'd thank you."  
  
That makes you laugh, brief but loud, and most of your tension melts away. You're a little out of your depth, taking a demon to bed, but underneath the eager haze of lust, he's still your BJ; toothy smiles and bad jokes and a desperation to be touched, no matter what the circumstance. It's helpfully emboldening.  
  
So you touch him.  
  
Not hard, and not fast-- you don't even touch his dick. You bring your hands down to his stomach instead, bare and striped with stretch marks, and give it an indulgent, two-handed squeeze, enjoying the feeling of his scruffy belly hair and the soft give of him under your palms.  
  
You haven't even finished that initial squeeze before Beetlejuice makes a high-pitched titter of a sound and nearly jerks backwards out of your touch.  
  
Surprised, you look up at him with your eyebrows raised.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
Beetlejuice looks back at you with an equally startled look on his face, his cheeks faintly colored, glancing down at himself and scowling as if he could glare himself into an explanation for his own reaction. You pull your hands away obligingly, not wanting to push him, and he rubs his own stomach where you'd touched him. You tilt your head.  
  
"Forget it," he says, shaking out his hands and making a point of laying back further, trying to entice you to try again, "Get up on this!" and slaps his own thigh hard enough to make you laugh again.  
  
And you're _hardly_ going to disagree, but you have a bit of a sneaking suspicion all of a sudden.  
  
So you test it out again.  
  
Once more you lean in, putting both hands on his stomach-- and this time, because you're paying more attention, you feel it when he tenses under your touch, no fear on his face but his lower lip pinched between his teeth. Gently, watching his expression, you knead his belly again.  
  
The effect is immediate and undeniable. Beetlejuice _squeals_ , a sound higher-pitched than anything you've ever heard from him, and giggles furiously as he writhes away from your hands, banging his head on the headboard and swearing. He has a bewildered smile on his face as he sits up to rub his scalp, and suddenly you can't help but grin back at him as your suspicions are confirmed.  
  
"Sensitive?" you ask, sitting back a little with your hands splayed on the bed. Beetlejuice grimaces in reply, the flush on his cheeks getting darker, and flips you the double-bird, transparently embarrassed.  
  
"No! I'm a demon. That was a--sneeze."  
  
"A sneeze," you repeat, trying not to laugh yourself. "You sure?"  
  
"Yeah I'm sure! What, you callin' me a liar?"  
  
You can tell he's confused too, looking down at himself for answers he's not going to find, but you bite your tongue and allow him to play it off like he wants to in the interest of getting your hands back on him again. You wait patiently for a minute until he calms down, and then you scoot in close and catch his lips in a quick, sweet kiss, and he's putty in your hands again. You guide him to lay down again and nuzzle your nose against his.  
  
"Gross," he grunts, wrinkling his nose at your sugary display of affection like you can't see the way he clenches the sheets in his fists, his face trying to follow yours, "Am I getting my dick wet or what?"  
  
"Shush," you hush him, kissing his forehead, and he goes cross-eyed trying to look at you. You let your hand come to rest on his thigh.  
  
This time, you're waiting for it; Beetlejuice flinches minutely under the contact, his body tense, and then you stroke playfully up his thigh with your nails to the point of his hip and he _jolts_ , making a stuttering, strangled sound as his body tries to jerk sideways out from under you. He sucks in a little breath he doesn't need, and you start to lift your hand away.  
  
He stops you with both hands on your wrist, pinning you there where you're touching him.  
  
"Do that again," he demands, his slit pupils rounder and wider than they usually are and spidery trails of pink starting to creep upwards through his hair.  
  
"Again?" you ask, surprising him by repeating the motion on his other thigh with your free hand. He makes that weird sound again and shudders all the way from his head to his toes, squirming like he can't decide if he wants to get away or not. His nails dig uncomfortably into the skin of your wrist.  
  
 _"Guh-- again,"_ he repeats after a moment, when the shivers subside. You don't bother hiding your delighted grin as you slide the pads of your fingers up his inner thigh, following the dip of his hip with your thumb this time, and he scrunches one eye closed and grunts and whines, sounding frustrated and excited all at once.  
  
You can see his dick bobbing between his legs, twitching like you've been doing something fantastic to him instead of lightly tickling his skin. You get the sudden feeling that if you actually grabbed his dick right now, he might honestly explode.  
  
You go still, but keep your hands resting on him.  
  
"BJ," you begin lightly, knowingly, "How long has it been?"  
  
"Been since-- what?"  
  
"How long since someone actually touched you? You know, like _this,"_ you ask, and wiggle your fingers just to watch all the hair on his arms stand on end. You honestly might have _guessed_. He talks such a big game about the guacamole lube and the undead orgies and all the freaky shit he gets up to-- but he also insists that he's made out with Elvis and that Charles Dickens was a whore, and you can always tell when he's blustering because he does his little fidget-stim with the edges of his suit coat and his sleeves. You can even see his hands mimicking the motions on the bedsheets now, while he searches for some way to play this off like he wants to.  
  
He can't find one.  
  
He starts to talk a couple times and then falters, a stricken look on his face, and you just give him as loving and patient a look as you can while you rub tiny, slow circles against his hip bone, waiting for him to admit it. He's impatient, and it doesn't take him long to break.  
  
"A while, okay?!" he finally snaps, grabbing a handful of his own hair, "It's been a while!"  
  
He's so obviously embarrassed, but not the least bit turned off; he's looking at you with equal parts aggravation and plea, his eyes big and dark and his teeth worrying his lip. His nipples are hard buds in the forest of his chest hair despite not having been touched at all, and, well, suddenly that gives you an _idea_.  
  
"Beej, it's _okay,"_ you assure him, leaning up to kiss the frustrated twist of his mouth with your own smiling one until he goes slack and pliant again. You kiss his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, whispering playful, _disgustingly_ sweet praises between each one, and watch and feel him _twitch_ and _twitch_ and _twitch_ from each little burst of contact. "It's _so_ okay! Let me just take care of you, bug. Are you still alright if I touch you?" you ask.  
  
Beetlejuice is nodding fervently before you're even finished speaking, looking a little bit dazed from all the kissing and wide-eyed as a cat in the dark. It makes you grin to see him like this, when _he's_ always the one who's flustering _you;_ it's about time you got some payback, even if you're getting it in the most pleasurable and adoring way possible.  
  
"Fuck my ass," he demands, clutching your hand, almost a plea, and you have to struggle valiantly not to burst out laughing with delight, trying to spare his easily-bruised ego. "Just _touch_ me, baby! Grab me, kiss me, _fuck_ me, I'll- _mmph!"_  
  
"Shhhh-shh-shh!" you shush him again, giggling despite your best efforts as you cover his mouth with your hand. "I will touch you, I am, I promise! Just relax, okay? I'll go nice and slow, and you can just tell me if anything starts to feel like too much, alright?"  
  
He nods hard again, muttering his assent, but you can tell he's too invested to call things off properly if he needs to, so you decide you'll just have to watch his reactions very carefully if he seems to be starting to get overstimulated by anything.  
  
Gently, you unhook his fingers from your wrist, and press a kiss to the knuckle on each one, listening to him take huffing little breaths while he waits for you to quit teasing so nicely. You lay his arms flat beside him on the bed, patting each in a wordless request for him to keep them there...and then you crawl up on top of him, balancing on your knees just above his waist, and his wild grin returns full-force as a little of the fog in his eyes seems to clear.  
  
"Don't even think about it," you warn him, seeing his hands twitch with the urge to grab you.  
  
"This is cruel and unusual punishment," he complains, kicking his legs a little, but he actually _listens_ and doesn't try to tug you down on him, even though you can feel the wet head of his cock _just_ brushing the curve of your ass as you lean in to kiss him again.  
  
This kiss is slow and deep, all tongue and no teeth as you take your dear sweet time adoring him, burying your hands in his greasy, matted hair. You can feel him straining under you, straining to hold relatively still and not buck you off or just flip you over and fuck you; and although the latter idea is _incredibly_ appealing, your goals for tonight have changed and you're not willing to give them up that easily, not when you have the chance to make him melt into a puddle beneath you.  
  
By the time you finally break the kiss, it seems like he's almost halfway there already. His dirty hair is more pink than green at this point-- amusingly, the carpet appears to match the drapes-- and his eyes are half-closed and as soft as you've ever seen them, although you're sure he'll get prickly and intense again as soon as the moment passes. He licks his lips like he's in a daze and rocks his hips, seemingly on reflex.  
  
"Uh-uh," you say, scooting away from his waist before he can start grinding against your ass properly. He whines and then _growls_ , shooting you a sharp look, but you ignore him and just readjust so you can sit your happy ass down right on his belly, out of reach of his humping and unconcerned with your choice of seat because he doesn't have to breathe. His gut is soft between your thighs, and you know he can feel how wet you are. He stares like he's about to pounce.  
  
So you distract him, before he can reach The Danger Zone; you do this by laying both your hands flat against his chest, your palms pressed firmly down over his nipples, and scratching your nails through his chest hair with an equivalent force to scritching a friendly dog. The intense look on Beetlejuice's face twists and then falls away at the same time as his mouth falls open, and he makes an undignified, reedy little sound as you squeeze his love handles and try not to giggle at him. It's almost _addicting_ , this newfound power you have.  
  
 _"Godddd_ that feels _gooood-!"_ he groans, even as he twists and kind of jerks underneath you as his body automatically tries to curl away from the sensation. He growls again, softer this time, gritting his teeth, and you decide to be a bastard and pinch one of his nipples between your thumb and forefinger, feeling a little over-warm yourself.  
  
He yelps and bucks and nearly upends you as he jitters back and forth, trying to pull away before arching up into your touch.  
  
 _"Hah--_ harder!" he exclaims, his voice whiny and high-pitched. His hands finally fly up to latch onto your waist, pulling you down hard against him, and you think he may have forgotten that you're on his stomach and not his waist, judging by the way you can feel him trying to thrust his hips. You can't help the squeal of laughter his reaction causes, and it only eggs you on to continue.  
  
"Like this?" you ask impishly, switching to pinch the other one and giving it a cheeky little tug. You're still being very gentle, all things considered, but Beetlejuice groans like you're being _wicked_ to him and digs his sharp nails into your waist. You bite your lip at the sting and force yourself not to rock your hips on him.  
  
"You _suck_ , I _hate_ you," he tells you, letting his head flop back against the pillow once you stop pinching and go back to gently petting through his chest hair. Your touches make him shiver, all through his body like a minute vibration. And honestly, it kind of _does_ make you want to fuck his ass.  
  
...Maybe some other time.  
  
As it is, you just grin at him, and then lean down to press a slow, loving kiss to the center of his chest. You can feel him go very still beneath you.  
  
"...Are you okay, Beej?" you ask, glancing up at him in faint concern. You meet his eyes and are immediately relieved; he looks dopey and kind of dazed, but in a _good_ way, and he moves one hand to the back of your head to try to convince you to kiss him again.  
  
"M'gonna fuck your-- _brains_ out," he says, mumbling the words and making a sound partway between a groan and a sigh as you start to pepper him with kisses.  
  
"Mmmm-hm."  
  
Whatever he needs to tell himself, you think to yourself, kissing a trail up the middle of his chest to his collarbone and then back down again. He's always a little grimy, and you can feel dried dirt against your lips, but it would take a _hell_ of a lot more to deter you when you can see his throat working with sounds he won't let free, and you take it in affectionate stride while you squish his chest in your hands, feeling him heave with useless breath and watching his brow furrow.  
  
"I'm _guh-- huh,"_ he grunts, making no sense, _"Huhh-hah--_ fucking-- _shit, I'm gggnnnghh_ come **_on!_** _"_  
  
"Too much?" you ask, hesitating.  
  
 _"No!_ Not _enough!"_ he exclaims, and nearly bucks you off again in surprise when you stroke down his throat and end it with a tickling motion right above where you're seated on him. And it's a little _mean_ of you, yeah, but the overheated look he gives you is _well_ worth it.  
  
"I _just_ \-- need a _little_ more," he says, his face all twisted up in pleasure that seems too great for the massaging you're giving him. Thousands of years completely alone will do that to a guy, you suppose, with a little pang of pity and love in your chest. You press your thumbs to his nipples, holding them there firmly, and watch him let his mouth fall open and his tongue hang halfway out to pant, pretty tempted to look behind you just to see how badly his dick is straining.  
  
It seems mean to tease any more, and you're _so_ curious to see how this ends.  
  
"Beetlejuice," you say lightly, getting his full attention with the single word. Saying his name three times in a row will banish him the same way it summoned him; _you_ know it, and _he_ knows it, and you're usually very careful to avoid using it, usually sticking to solely nicknames. You can feel him tense again, blinking rapidly up at you, and you grin at him, starting to slowly roll his nipples under your thumbs, continuous circles that have him gasping with the building pleasure. "Beeeeeetlejuice!"  
  
"Babe, babe babe _babe_ , what-- _what--"_ he wheezes, grabbing at your hips, your thighs, unsure of what you're doing but only halfway trying to get you to stop. You'd always had a suspicion that hearing his name gave him some kind of a _jolt_ , based on the few times you'd slipped up early on in your relationship-- and seeing his reaction, now you're damn near certain of it. He's completely flushed, red to the tips of his ears, and his hair is an eye-searing magenta color as you give his nipples a little flick, making his legs kick out and his teeth snap.  
  
 _"Beeeeeeeeeee--"_ you continue, rocking your hips just a little. Seeing him like this is doing _so_ much for you, you're _certain_ his skin is soaked and sticky where you've been sitting on him. Beetlejuice pants and keens, trying to reach around you to jerk himself off but unable to reach with you acting as an obstacle, and you smile and rut against his squishy stomach as you lean in to breathe heavily against his throat, _"--eeeeeeeee_ good for me!"  
  
The demon beneath you croaks out something that sounds like, _"Tease!"_ and writhes against the mattress, and you finally have no choice but to take pity on him and let him have what he's been wanting. He more than deserves it, after everything.  
  
With one hand you continue to grope his chest, your movements becoming more clumsy as you have to unbalance yourself, and with your other hand you stretch and reach awkwardly behind you, fumbling, searching for--  
  
Beetlejuice slaps both his hands down over his face and makes a desperate sound into his palms as your fingers close around the top of his cock, which you find so wet and sticky that you have to take a moment just to be sure he hasn't cum already.  
  
 _"Yes!_ Yes, yes yes _yesyesyesyes please--"_ he chants rapidly, his voice muffled but broken and creaky through his hands, "Babe I'm gonna cum _I'm gonna cum_ I'm gonna-- _hhhoh-- ghh-hhkkkkfuckk-! **Baaaabe-!"**  
  
_ And that's all it takes. A single squeeze and a jerk to his cock and another rub to his chest, your lips pursed against his neck, and he shudders from head to toe and then goes rigid as he cums, his limbs jerking and a look of slack-jawed pleasure on his face. He cums _hard_ , his hips pumping jaggedly, and you have to just try to hold on and not let yourself fall off of him as his release spurts through your fingers, thick and sticky all over your hand and up your wrist.  
  
You're breathing hard, too, while you help him ride it out, swiveling your wrist until he's twitching all over from the aftershocks and faint over-stimulation. You barely even did anything, but he seemed to enjoy it so much that you feel like you could probably follow him off that edge with just a little encouragement yourself.  
  
"Ohhhhh, _ohhhhhhh, that's_ the shit," Beetlejuice moans as you slow to a stop, the sound caught low in his throat and his eyelids fluttering. You pull your hand away from his dick and back to your own lap to look at it, curious to see what demon cum looks like, and you're surprised (and amused) to find that it's a faint, luminous green, almost glow-in-the-dark. Beetlejuice shivers and goes limp underneath you, watching you inspect his release with dazed, starry eyes.  
  
"...Yeah. That's goin' in you next," he chuckles, his voice a little rougher than usual. Your gaze snaps to him, surprised and embarrassed, and you squeak a laugh at the thought, covering your face halfway with your clean hand. Beetlejuice grins, mellowed out. "What? You thought you were just gonna _get away_ with that? Naaaaah baby. Yer on the BJ Express now, and this train don't stop until _you're_ whistling."  
  
The metaphor is horrible and clumsy and awful, and it makes you laugh even harder, until you're pink in the face from it, bouncing slightly from the movements of Beetlejuice underneath you as he laughs too. You smear the cum on your hand onto his leg, swearing up and down at him, but all he does is grab you around the shoulders and yank you down to kiss you, long and deep, effectively shutting you both up. He's still clumsy, and overzealous, and his teeth click against yours...but his hands are in your hair, and he's slightly above room-temperature from the exertion, and it's...wonderful. It's sticky, and ridiculous.  
  
Kind of _perfect_.  
  
If you're able to walk by the time you make it out of this bedroom, you think you'll be _lucky_ \-- but you're already planning the next time you can get your hands on him (you'd _love_ to see how he would handle a vibrator).


End file.
